Songbird
by Clockeater
Summary: Wealthy businessman, Ivan, is dragged to a party by his wife and meets a young painter from China. Try as he might, he cannot help being drawn to him.


**1.**

Ivan considered himself to be a man who enjoyed simple pleasures. Oh, he had the money and the means to enjoy extravagance and luxury, but he didn't care all that much for it.

One thing Ivan did not enjoy was going to his wife's parties. They were always loud and everyone laughed without sincerity and he strongly suspected they had all gathered there to laugh at him. He preferred the dinner parties he and his wife would host, small and intimate where people didn't feel the need to show off. He felt exposed in crowds like these and he stuck out too, the uptight businessman who stumbled across his words and seemed to glare at everyone. There were the swish of skirts and women who playfully brushed past him and men who appraised him and saw nothing of worth in him. The long dresses and the stiff suits, the glint of jewellery dripping off necks and wrists, and the heavy perfume that would stick to him after- it all suffocated him.

His wife guided him through to the center of the room, her hand perched tightly in the crook of his arm. The low lights glanced off her jewellery.

"What are we doing here?" Ivan murmured to his wife as people turned to greet her and gave him the briefest nod of acknowledgement. He thought longingly of how he could be at home in his large comfy armchair by the fire reading with the vodka stash he kept hidden from his wife.

"My friend is showing off her latest find- a young artist from China. He is supposedly very talented," she responded and tucked a strand of hair that had gotten free behind her ear. "You should let me go out more. I never find interesting people." She smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on her pale blue dress and the locket hung round her neck. "Now smile, darling. People will think that you really do hate them."

"But Natalya…" Ivan grumbled, "I do hate them all. They think they know everything, but they're all so vapid and-"

"Shush." Natalya cut them off as they reached her friend. The two women pecked each other on the cheeks and Ivan stiffly administered a kiss to the procured hand. Ivan watched as Natalya surveyed the other woman and saw her displeased smile. While Natalya looked beautiful and elegant, the other woman was stunning and flushed with excitement. It was her evening after all.

Ivan grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. He could already feel a headache coming on. He wanted to take off and find a seat but Natalya would murder him with a delightful smile if he did so.

"Darling!" Natalya hissed, digging her nails (they more resembled claws, Ivan thought) into his arms.

Ivan realized that they were waiting for an answer from him. He squeaked out a tentative yes and was rewarded with a glowing smile from the hostess who immediately started calling for someone and then slipped into the crowd to find them.

Natalya's smile became strained. "Must you behave like this?"

"I'm sorry." But it was an automatic response and Natalya fumed.

The hostess re-emerged before them with a young man in tow. His long black hair was loosely tied up into a ponytail and his suit was wrinkled and he seemed uncomfortable in it. He tugged at his sleeves instead of looking at the guests.

"This is Yao Wang, newly arrived from China," the hostess proclaimed and pulled him more into the spotlight. "He is the most extraordinary painter. His paintings are sublime, so beautiful. I've got some hanging around."

Ivan noted that this Yao didn't seem pleased or phased at all by the compliments being paid to him. Well, any compliments from people like her were usually empty and void of meaning anyways.

"I'm delighted to meet you after hearing so much about you," Natalya said with a charming smile and extended her hand. After a few seconds, Yao bent down to kiss it. Ivan offered his hand to be shaken after and Yao finally looked at him.

Yao's hand was warm and soft and his eyes were a shade of brown that reminded Ivan of winter and warm hot chocolate that his grandmother would make and it was perhaps during that time he was happiest. Ivan took in the soft skin and the rosy cheeks, the light pink and curve of Yao's lips. An unfamiliar feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach and Ivan hastily dropped Yao's hand. He knew it came across as rude and Natalya was digging her fingernails into his arm again, but he did not like this man and he wanted desperately to get away from him.

He barely paid attention to what was being said. People passing him were pushing against him and his hands felt clammy. He tried not to look at Yao, but he knew that the man's entrancing eyes were upon him.

"That would be perfect!" he heard Natalya declare. "Don't you think, darling?"

"Ah, yes- of course," Ivan said instantly.

Natalya gave him a look and Ivan knew that she was aware that he had not been listening at all and turned back to Yao. "Then it's settled," she said. "Wednesday afternoons would be a wonderful day for you to come over and paint. I won't accept no for an answer."

Yao looked directly into Ivan's eyes as he responded. "It would be my pleasure to."


End file.
